


The Tradition

by Vrunka



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dubious Consent, Incest, M/M, Mutual Masturbation, Shimadacest, au dragon princes, though that tag is mostly to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-02
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-09-13 10:11:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9119071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vrunka/pseuds/Vrunka
Summary: AU prompt for day 2 of Shimadacest week.Once upon a time, the dragons ruled the land. Twin dragons, twisting through time and space and earth. The Shimada's have always been hosts to the echoes.Hanzo and Genji just have to deal with the consequences.





	

**Author's Note:**

> The dub con tag is to be safe since there's a source outstide of the boy's control intervening on their relationship.

The tradition is harder on Genji.

Hanzo had always figured it would be when their father, stern and solemn, had introduced them to the notion. The twin dragons, embodied in flesh.

Most of the Shimada clan, down the line for generations now, have only had one son.

Just their luck, having two boys like this.

Twin dragons.

Hanzo looks over to where Genji is squirming under the tattooist's gun. Tears on his brother's face. Little glittering gems.

A distance of two years keeps them from being true twins, but none of the scholars seem particularly keen on bringing that part up. At least not to their father, who is foolish and foolhardy enough to wish for twin dragons.

Who wants that honor and that praise with all of his heart.

Genji is crying, sobbing.

Lip between his teeth, blood down his chin. Just a thin trickle. But still, blood.

Hanzo did not cry so much. But Hanzo's ordeal had been different. Around the nipple, across his chest, the skin had been more sensitive, tender. The spread of Genji's back, right down across the top line of his ass, must feel similar. Prickling, sharp, stabbing discomfort. Neither brother is unused to a small measure of pain. But not in such intimate places.

Hanzo closes his eyes, briefly. He can feel the dragon soul within him, coiling, constricting. He has told no one.

He wonders if Genji will.

If Genji will even feel it.

Genji looks so young, laid out on the table. Eighteen. Already a man by so many standards. But not to Hanzo.

He's still Hanzo's little brother.

He always will be.

Genji groans, clenches his hands. But he remains still. Just his shoulders shaking slightly with his cries.

Hanzo watches.

Hanzo does nothing to comfort his brother.

Hanzo watches.

They have their roles to play.

\--  
Three months later and it's like it never happened. Like Genji has had the swirling green tattoo forever.

Maybe they have had them forever.

Maybe it was always supposed to be like this.

Genji is knocking on Hanzo's door frame. It could only be Genji. The foreign ringing in Hanzo's chest doesn't happen around anyone else. A heartbeat that isn't his own. An anticipation Hanzo doesn't ever know how to place.

So little is known about the dragons of lore.

Genji knocks again.

Hanzo answers.

There is no hiding from his brother, not if that same, luring knell happens for Genji as well. An echo, a connection. A desire. Confusing and conflicted and demanding.

Judging by Genji's face as Hanzo pulls the door open, the feeling is as mutual as he's suspected.

"Hanzo," Genji says. He's shaking. Sweating. "I don't know what--"

Hanzo pulls him inside. Slides the door shut behind them. Genji's sweated through his robes, drenched.

"Are you fighting it?" Hanzo asks. Trying to be as stern as Father. Brow furrowed, arms at his sides.

Genji nods. Hiccups. He's hugging himself.

The dragon in Hanzo's soul shifts, Hanzo can practically feel it, lifting under his skin.

"Do you always feel like this?" Genji asks. Pitiable desperation at the edges of his words.

Hanzo shakes his head. "I do not fight it anymore."

Genji reaches for him and Hanzo wants to slap his hands away. The boy in him still, the brother, the good son.

Instead he accepts Genji's shaking embrace. Genji's forehead against his shoulder. Hands bunched in Hanzo's gi.

"It hurts less," Hanzo says, "if you just let it happen. I know that it...feels all-consuming, but I promise you, Genji, it is not."

Hanzo remembers his first few months. The hesitant touches of the dragon's soul to his. And later, more demanding, insistent, constant. Painful from being denied. The blending of the souls, the merging, had been the scariest part.

But Hanzo had not been consumed.

Not fully.

Instead he now feels what the dragon feels. Alien, separate urges. No less his own than his own, but still foreign somehow.

Genji lets out another shuddering sob. And then he is still. His weight melting full-bodied against Hanzo. Softer than the snapping, rolling, violent melding that Hanzo remembers.

But perhaps that too is just how it is meant to be.

Genji's dragon after all is the gentler of the two. The kinder, the softer. The sacrificial lamb.

Hanzo can feel the stirrings of those memories within him.

Genji sighs against Hanzo's neck. Pulls in several, deep breaths.

"Hanzo," he says. Lips against the skin of Hanzo's throat.

The dragon coils tighter, that endless, echoing peal. He feels it within Genji too, reverberating.

Unconditional.

"Hanzo," Genji says again.

Infinite.

Hanzo has nothing to add.

"You've never told the scholars, have you?" Genji asks. "About this. The awakening."

"I have not." Hanzo's one act of defiance.

"Will you now?"

"I do not know."

Genji breathes. In the quiet of the room, the sound is deafening. "They will make us--"

Hanzo shrugs. The motion pushes Genji away from him. Genji's robe slipping down his shoulder. "It does not matter," Hanzo says, "if we do not tell them."

"They'll find out."

Genji crosses to Hanzo's bed. He lays on it without asking. Sighs. Staring up at the ceiling. He extends his hand above him, spreads his fingers.

"What does it feel like to you?" Genji asks. His fingers clench, release, spread wide again. Slow, continuous motions.

"Loneliness."

"When I was younger, I believed we would turn into dragons," Genji says, lowering his hand to his stomach. "I dreamed of it. Flying in the sky with you, my brother. The adventures we'd have."

Hanzo watches him breath. Hand on his chest rising and falling slowly.

"Guess it's not really so mystical as all that," Genji says, grinning.

"What does it feel like to you?" Hanzo asks.

Genji looks away. Brow furrowed. His ridiculous green hair. Dyed three days before his eighteenth birthday. A rising little rebellion of his own. The roots are growing in, dark against his scalp.

"Desire."

Genji says.

He is staring at Hanzo.

A role to play.

Hanzo shakes his head. "Go back to bed, Genji. This is not the time for this."

The dragon rebels against that answer. Rakes and rages at the denial. Hanzo so clearly ignoring its wants.

Desires.

But Genji is his brother, above all things.

"Go back to your room, Genji," Hanzo warns again. Using the dragon's anger as his own. Turning it outward instead of in. Genji flinches at the tone.

Genji goes.

Hanzo can feel his retreat. Every step of it echoing within Hanzo's own chest. The dragon within him raging, coiling, writhing. Foreign anger pounding in Hanzo's temples.

He lays down in his own bed. Raises his hand above him as Genji had, splays his fingers. The tattoo down his arm seems to shiver on his skin, glowing. Raging.

There will be no rest tonight.

Such is the way of it.

\--  
"Spar with me, Hanzo," Genji says. He's smiling. Reprimanded by Father, yet again. The old man disappointed in his sons, unable to produce the fruit of his labors.

No dragons, the scholars all say. The Shimada sons have shown no signs of merging with the dragons of lore. The texts had been wrong perhaps. The boys themselves.

But no dragons.

Genji cracks his knuckles. All bravado. Hanzo shouldn't indulge him.

But the dragons that are not there are restless, reckless from being kept apart.

Perhaps just this once, it would not be so bad.

"Shall we wrestle then, like the old days?" Genji asks, when Hanzo has made no move to leave.

Scuffling together, rolling upon the mat. Both of them breathless. Hanzo remembers it. The taste of Genji's laughter.

A transgression even then. The building rush of this horrible new desire making the memories more indecent than they ever truly were.

He remembers other things as well. Things that never happened to him. The feeling of scales, catching, dragging. Coiling around one another.

Intense, terrible loneliness.

A burst of terrific, exploding release.

Touching himself that night he pushed Genji away, thinking of green scales, blue scales and twisting draconian bodies.

Hanzo looks at his brother.

Genji rolls his shoulders, squares them, bouncing slightly on his toes.

"You are my brother," Hanzo says. He doesn't mean it to sound desperate like it does. Pleading.

Genji scrunches his nose over his grin. Mocking. He shakes his head. "We're dragons now, Hanzo. Don't you feel it?"

Hanzo closes his eyes. He feels it. Constantly. A screaming, ripping itch for release.

The melding of the dragon's soul had not been all-consuming. Perhaps it would have been easier if it had been.

Hanzo turns on his heel. Leaves the dojo.

But Genji will not be shook so easily. He follows at Hanzo's elbow. Silent, for once, but brooding. Sulking.

"Hanzo," he says when they reach Hanzo's room. "You can't ignore me forever, you know."

Hanzo glances over his shoulder. Genji has his arms crossed, one shoulder slumped lower than the other.

"I know you feel it," Genji continues; his brother's look enough to confirm that Hanzo is listening apparently. "How long will you deny it?"

Hanzo shrugs, helpless. The dragon in his skin at war with his morals, his feelings. Perverting them, twisting them.

"Will you be the one to tell the scholars then? They will be most pleased to hear it, I'm sure."

"I won't tell them," Genji says. He sounds scandalized.

"Then I will continue to deny it, brother."

Genji clenches his hands. Runs one through his hair distractedly. He's found the time to redo his roots, they are as green as the rest of his short cropped hair. Father has always been softer on Genji.

"You want me to tell them?" Genji asks. Frustration evident in his tone. Sharp, jagged words like rocks.

Hanzo shakes his head. "I do not wish for anything to change."

"Everything has already changed!" Genji bites his lip. Lowers his voice. "It changed when you told me to accept it. It changed when I let this thing into me," Genji hisses.

They are not watched, Father has not suspected their deceit enough to have them followed. Genji still looks both ways down the hall as he says it. Furtive. Hanzo does the same.

"What other choice did we have, brother?" Hanzo asks, clenching his hands. The wish to lash out, to strike; Hanzo doesn't know if it's his desire or the dragon's. One in the same, either way. No different.

"It is your fault, Hanzo. Because you told me to accept it. But you are a liar and you haven't accepted it yourself."

Only this one thing, this tiny thing, has Hanzo not accepted.

Genji his brother.

Genji the dragon.

Are they different?

The dragon's soul insists they are. Doesn't truly care one way or the other. Hanzo's own soul is not so sure.

Hanzo sighs, turns back to his door, slides it open and beckons Genji in.

Safer here, just the two of them.

"You cannot be afraid of changes, Hanzo," Genji says. Closer than Hanzo expects, leaning into Hanzo's space as Hanzo pulls the door closed behind them. "I will not hurt you, brother," Genji whispers. His breath puffs across Hanzo's chin.

Brother.

Genji is eighteen. Genji is stupid. Genji is hormonal and impulsive and young. Even more so now, with a dragon residing in his skin.

But Hanzo lets Genji kiss him when Genji pushes up on his toes to do just that. Hanzo lets Genji grab his shoulder, one hand threading behind his head to grip Hanzo's hair. To tangle his fingers in the midnight strands.

Hanzo lets him.

And the dragons thrill.

He can feel both of them. The ringing in his chest clanging to an almost deafening crescendo. Finally together again.

Finally.

Finally.

Genji, surprisingly, is the one who breaks away first. Gasping. Eyes half-lidded. He licks his lips, shiny with Hanzo's spit.

"Bed," he says. "Strip," he says. "Hanzo. Brother. Let me have you," he says.

Hanzo is powerless to say no.

Genji is the one with experience in this arena. Hanzo slips out of his clothes and allows Genji to lead. Any lingering resistance he feels in his mind is side-swept by the dragon's insistence. Easily packed into a corner where Hanzo will be able to deliberate over at length later.

Hanzo lays back on the bed as Genji had that first night. Hands curled at his sides. White-knuckled in the sheet. 

"That won't do," Genji says. He presses his fingers into Hanzo's hands, loosens them gently, brings one to his face.

The dragons seem to curl tighter, sing higher, at the contact. They want to touch, to be touched.

Hanzo can remember what it was like, in bodies different than these. Together. Together. Infinite. Endless.

He sits up, winds his arms around Genji's neck. A reverse of their positions by the door. Genji the taller of the two now. He will be, in the end, still growing. Neither of them have the same willowy thinness of their mother, but Genji will have her height.

Hanzo digs his fingers into the skin of Genji's back, the muscles shifting beneath his nails. Warm and alive under his palms.

Genji kisses his neck, laves the flat of his tongue at Hanzo's pulse point, and Hanzo cannot help the noise he makes at that. Throat catching over the groan.

Genji smiles against his skin. "Like that, Hanzo," he says. "It's perfect. We wanna know how you feel, brother."

We.

Hanzo twists, brings his hips up. Pressing himself against Genji's stomach. His erection a shameful thing still, burning in his conscious.

Genji does not seem to have the same reservations.

He chuckles, drops his hand to stroke Hanzo's cock. The indecency, the wrongness, makes Hanzo shiver. Genji is his brother.

Or are they dragons now?

Does it matter?

"Stop thinking," Genji instructs, curling his fingers tighter. Distracting Hanzo with physical, paralyzing pleasure.

Hanzo pants into Genji's hair, hips pumping against his brother's fist. Fucking the loose tunnel Genji provides. "Give me a reason to," he says, words coming out over an undignified shudder, "and maybe I will."

Genji looks up, cranes his head back just enough to study Hanzo's expression. "A challenge then," Genji says with a grin. "This'll be the first time I've done this."

"Don't lie to me, Genji."

Genji shakes his head, shrugs. Touches Hanzo's cheek with the hand that had been circling Hanzo's cock. Slight stickiness on his fingers, but Hanzo doesn't pull away.

"'M not lying, brother." He licks his lips. Kisses Hanzo's temple, the center of his forehead, the tip of his ear. "Never gone this far with another man. Just--"

Hanzo doesn't want to hear it. Possessive. It's easier to blame the desperate way he pushes their mouths together on the dragon. Cutting Genji off roughly, teeth catching, clipping. Hanzo's lip caught painfully between them.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

Genji hisses, breath between his teeth. He pushes Hanzo back down on the bed, follows the motion so he's leaning over him. Still kissing, tongue in Hanzo's mouth, controlling.

His cock brushes Hanzo's thigh, his hip, the line of his stomach. Moving in a wave. Genji rubbing against him.

Humping like a dog in heat.

The dragons' bodies had not been made this way.

It was not like this in any of the shifting memories Hanzo has. The feeling in the pit of his stomach, coiling like a spring. He feels too large for his skin, confined by the limits of his too human body.

He draws his legs up, wraps them around Genji's waist at the knee, pulling Genji tighter against him. Their cocks lining up better. A spark of melting, mutual pleasure.

Hanzo groans. Covers his eyes with his hand. Genji bites his wrist, sharply, a rebuttal.

"No hiding from this, Hanzo."

He couldn't hide from it even if he wanted to.

Genji looks beautiful like this. In his element. Gasping, arching. An echo of the spiraling, infinite completion that Hanzo remembers. Genji's hand squeezes their cocks together. His hand isn't quite big enough to fit around both.

It's that image, Genji's fingers wrapped partially around the length of both of them, that finally breaks Hanzo's resolve.

The dragon consumes.

The dragon takes.

Hanzo wraps his hand around the other side, fingertips brushing Genji's knuckles. Controlling the pace. Forcing them to slow down. Draw it out.

Genji whines, drops his head to lean against Hanzo's collarbone. Chin tilted to watch their cocks disappear into their combined grip.

The dragons thrill.

Together again. At last. At last.

Genji is the one who comes first, surprising, given their individual experiences; but Genji is the first to gasp and push and stutter and come.

It feels too fast.

Too fleeting.

Hanzo, the dragon in Hanzo, wants to protest. But then Genji's grip tightens, twists, and Hanzo's own orgasm crashes through him.

The dragon shatters. Hanzo's control slips.

And then, for a moment, it is just him. Laying in his brother's arms. Sweaty and gasping and sinful.

The dragons--Hanzo cannot feel them. Not his own, not his brother's echo.

He holds his breath.

Genji sits up, weight on his hands. His lips are plump and red. Kiss swollen. Looking down at Hanzo. He doesn't look shaken. He doesn't look guilty.

Hanzo looks away. He has to. The tight, distinct, undeniable clench of nausea in his gut.

Hanzo opens his mouth.

The dragons return on the inhale. Blinked back like they had never been gone. A foreign thrumming in Hanzo's chest, less foreign now that Hanzo has lived so long with it. Genji's echo is there too.

Palpitating.

Alive.

"I'm sorry," Hanzo says.

Genji shakes his head. His bare legs are still tangled with Hanzo. Sweat-slick skin drying against each other.

"It's not us," Genji says. "It doesn't matter. We were never part of this equation. Not really. Besides, I've always kind of..."

Genji shakes his head again, harder. Relaxes his elbows. Weight across Hanzo's torso. He kisses Hanzo's cheek. Tentatively, Hanzo's lips.

"It doesn't matter," Genji says. "Because we are dragons and we will rule. They cannot tell us what to do, brother."

But they can.

Because he and Genji are hosts to dragons, not the dragons themselves. Because he and Genji are all too human, all too imperfect. Genji leans his head against Hanzo's shoulder and closes his eyes and sleeps.

And Hanzo breathes.

And Hanzo makes his plans.

A role to play.

Such is the way of it.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. I know the end here is sort of a non-end but I intended (intend?) to continue this with a McHanzo piece set in the same verse. If that ever gets finished (or if I jusssst reduce it to the porn that has already been complete) I'll add a note.


End file.
